When Isfain had pointed to a place and told her to make camp there, she’d nearly told him where to take his orders. If she hadn’t caught Lehr watching her expectantly, Seraph would have done just that. Instead she’d just nodded and gotten to work.
At least they accorded Seraph some leeway for being Raven, and clan leader, if only just of her family plus Hennea. Lehr they treated like a green boy—Tier had never treated him so. She just hoped he was enough his father’s son to hold his peace until she’d had time to learn more about this clan: they might be a great help in retrieving Tier.
Seraph pitched in to help prepare the evening meal. Some of the men tended horses and goats, some set out to fish, and a smaller group set out into the forest to see what game they could find. Jes and Lehr joined the latter group. She’d had time to talk with Lehr, and Seraph knew he wouldn’t give himself away. He didn’t care for Benroln much either.
“My Kors told me that you married a solsenti,” said the woman on Seraph’s left, while her clever fingers and sharp knife were making short work of deboning one of the rabbit carcasses that were the basis for tonight’s meal.
There was such studied neutrality in the words that Seraph didn’t reply, pretending that skinning her own rabbit took up all of her attention.
“What was it like?” said the woman on the other side of her with hushed interest. “I’ve heard that solsenti men—”
She was quickly hushed by several of the other women who were giggling as they chided her.
“Would you look at this!” exclaimed a woman in gravelly tones. Seraph turned and saw a tiny, ancient crone approaching the tables set up to prepare food. Her hair was pale yellow and thin; it hung in a braid from the crown of her head to her hips. Her shoulders were stooped and bent, and her hand as knobby as the staff she balanced herself with. “You’d think you’d never had a man before the way you act here! She is a guest. Ah, you embarrass the clan.”
“Brewydd,” said the woman who had begun the conversation. “What brings you here?”
“Brewydd?” said Seraph, setting down the naked rabbit carcass and wiping her hands on the apron someone had given her. “Are you the Healer?” Even twenty years ago, Brewydd the Healer had been ancient.
The old woman nodded. “That I be,” she said. “I know you child—Isolda’s Raven. The one who survived.”
The woman on Seraph’s right put aside the food she was working with and hurried over to tuck her hand under Brewydd’s arm and lend support. “Come, grandmother. You need to get off your feet.” Scolding gently and prodding, the woman took Brewydd away toward a wagon built up on all four sides and roofed like a small house on wheels—a karis it was called for the kari, the Elders, who were the only Travelers who rode in them.
“Raven,” said the old woman, stopping for a moment to turn back and look at Seraph. “Not all shadows come from the evil one.”
“People can be evil all on their own,” agreed Seraph.
Satisfied with Seraph’s reply, the old woman tottered back to her karis.
“She can still heal,” said the woman on Seraph’s left. “But she’s a little touched. It’s the years, you know. She won’t tell anyone how old she is, but my Kors is her great-grandson.”
Three days of travel with Rongier’s clan taught Seraph a lot about them. Benroln and the old Healer were the only Ordered among them, though they had a few who could work magic in the solsenti fashion—with words and spell casting that hoped to gather enough stray magic to accomplish their task.
It was most remarkable, she thought, watching as a young man named Rilkin used a spell to light a damp log, that they got any results at all. Her father had been gifted that way, and they’d spent many a Traveling day exploring the differences between her magic and his. A solsenti spell cast out a blind net into the sea to haul in whatever stray magic might attach itself to the net; Ordered magic was more like putting a pail in a well.
She turned back to grooming Skew and to her current worries. Tier she could do nothing about until they reached Taela, so she tucked her fear for him away until it might be useful. Lehr and Jes were more immediate concerns. They were growing more and more unhappy with the continued association with the Traveling clan.
Skew stretched his neck out appreciatively when her brush rubbed a particularly good spot. Skew, at least, was having the time of his life with all the attention he was getting.
Lehr, however, chafed under the commands that all of the men and most of the women of the clan felt free to throw at him. Without hinting at what he was, he couldn’t win their respect by his hunting skills so they treated him as they treated all the other young men.
No one gave Jes orders—they all knew what he was. Her daylight Jes was bewildered by the way they lowered their eyes around him and avoided him. Seraph didn’t remember her clan treating her brother, the Guardian, that way. The Librarian’s clan hurt Jes’s feelings by their rejection, and that made the Guardian restless: Jes was one of the people he protected.
Hennea helped. She knitted in the evenings, and found things that required Jes’s aid. He was calmer around her, too; perhaps it was the discipline of being Raven that made Hennea easier for Jes to bear. Some people, like Alinath, were hard for him to be in the same room with.
“Mother?” It was Lehr. “Have you seen Jes? He was with me at dinner, but someone decided they needed a dray mule and I was the nearest they could find. When I went back to the dining tables, Jes wasn’t there. I checked the horses and he wasn’t there either. Hennea was looking for him, too. He’s not in the camp, Mother. I told Hennea I would check with you.”
To see if she wanted him to search, even though someone might notice what he was doing.
“I don’t—” Seraph stopped speaking abruptly.
Over Lehr’s shoulder, Seraph saw Benroln, Kors, and Calahar approach with intent. Isfain, the fourth man, was nowhere to be seen. The air of grim triumph Benroln wore was as damning as the guilt on Kors’s face.
She stepped around Lehr so she stood between him and the leadership of the Clan of Rongier.
“Is something wrong?” asked Benroln.
“I don’t know,” Seraph replied softly. “I think that’s something you can tell me. Where is Jes, Benroln?”
Benroln held his arms out open-palm to show her he meant no harm. “He is safe, Seraph. I won’t harm him unless there is no other way to save my clan.”
Seraph waited.
“Jes is in one of the tents with Isfain at watch.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
Benroln smiled as if to say, See, I knew you’d do it my way. Three days had obviously not taught him much about her—she hoped that her other secrets were as well-hidden.
“My uncle has been scouting for work for us, and he found some not five miles down the road.”
“What kind of work?” asked Seraph.
“There is a merchant who buys grain and hauls it to Korhadan to sell. Last year one of the farmers with whom he had a contract delivered his grain himself and cost our merchant money and reputation when he wasn’t able to deliver the grain he had promised his buyers. He went to the courts for redress, but they were unable to help him.”
“I see,” said Seraph neutrally.
“I want you to curse this farmer’s fields.”
“To teach him a lesson,” she said.
“Right,” he smiled engagingly. “Just like that man who assaulted Hennea.”